


an undeniable piece of sophistry

by malfaisant



Category: Temeraire - Naomi Novik
Genre: M/M, spoilers for Blood of Tyrants
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-21
Updated: 2015-03-21
Packaged: 2018-03-18 20:24:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3582750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malfaisant/pseuds/malfaisant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The imperial robes had been tailored to Laurence's measurements, but he and Tharkay were nearly the same in height, and Laurence really only had the advantage of being a little wider at the shoulders.</p>
            </blockquote>





	an undeniable piece of sophistry

"If only I could so convince Temeraire to let you keep the robes, when they fit your personage much more handsomely.”

The imperial robes had been tailored to Laurence's measurements, but he and Tharkay were nearly the same in height, and Laurence really only had the advantage of being a little wider at the shoulders. And yet, Tharkay had carried the robes with such austere, genuine authority, from the proud tilt of his head to the elegant cut of his silhouette; he looked more like a prince than Laurence ever had.

“You flatter me too much, Will, and underestimate your own capacity for ostentation,” replied Tharkay, undoing the fastenings of the ceremonial collar as he spoke.

It was early in the evening, and they had retired to Tharkay’s tent within the first moment that day in which nothing had demanded their attention, or graciously requested their presence. The day’s deliberations had been an exercise in frustration, a back-and-forth in which they’d had to insist repeatedly that they were neither liars nor mad men, but at the very least, it was a better position than the one they were in yesterday, when their Russian allies simply went about their business as though they did not exist, and the Chinese were on the verge of withdrawing their forces back to their country.

Regardless of the advances they’d made, the whole endeavour still proved exhausting, and Laurence was grateful for the opportunity to unwind. He was leaning against the tent’s single central pole, and had divested himself of his jacket, thrown over the back of one of the short-legged chairs. “Temeraire was right, you know,” Tharkay continued, “it is illegal for someone not of the court to wear the vestments of His Imperial Highness.”

“Oh yes, the laws. Forbid me if I can't take your cavil with the sincerity it deserves, Tharkay,” says Laurence, not a little mirth in his tone.

Tharkay’s mouth twitched, as if to smile, but he seemed to have thought better of it at the last minute, opting instead to reply, wryly, “If I could request your assistance with these fastenings; my hands are still so lately defective, and I do not wish to incur Temeraire’s ire anymore than I already have by damaging your much beloved gift.”

“Certainly,” Laurence said, stepping forward to begin undoing the ties that ran in a diagonal line from the center of the collar down to the seam of the robe at his left side. The robe was fastened by thick golden thread, wound carefully around heavy gilt buttons; one by one, he unwound the thread, fingers lightly brushing the red silk brocade. “We managed to catch Kutuzov’s attention, even if his audience did not do much to remedy their recalcitrance," said Laurence, resuming their conversation.

“I think it’s this weather. The Russians are more accustomed to scarcity than not, and that familiarity is its own brand of comfort,” Tharkay supplied.

“It is not a little thing, if not to have not secured their trust, then at least to have dismissed their apathy,” said Laurence. “More importantly, General Chu’s forces are on their way, for which we have your idea to thank for.”

Tharkay shrugged. “It was a cheap ruse, simple enough to devise.”

“Yet without it we would be short three hundred dragons, with Napoleon nipping at our heels,” Laurence said in an honest voice. Of course, a part of him still bristled at having to resort to such means at all, but there was nothing to be done about the Russians’ foolhardiness. Even if he could not endorse it unreservedly, Laurence was resolved to make his peace with it.

However, something of his ruminations must have shown in his expression, because Tharkay then replied, in light tones, “Perhaps it is only understandable that the years of it being assumed of my character have made it self-fulfilling prophecy, that duplicity should come so easy to my nature.”

Laurence regarded Tharkay with some alarm as he undid the last fastening. “You know well enough I do not mean anything of the sort.”

“Of course. You are too kind to even imply anything so ill-mannered," he said. Having finished, Laurence took a step back as Tharkay pulled the robe off his shoulders, stripped down to the white silk shirt he had worn underneath. The robe Tharkay set on top of the cot, to be folded neatly and returned to its oilskin wrappings.

“It is not kindness that I should have a fair evaluation of your character, and hold you in the esteem you deserve,” Laurence replied, frowning.

Tharkay smirked at him, obviously amused. “Please, Laurence, you need not ail your conscience so, that it should smart a little at this bit of necessary subterfuge.”

“No, I do not deny as such,” Laurence said, increasingly insistent. It was suddenly vital that Tharkay understood what he meant. “I only protest against the self-deprecation you persist in entertaining, even in jest. You’re a good man, Tenzing, no matter how much you try to convince me to the contrary.”

Silence followed his statement, and it was only after a few moments more that Laurence realised his voice had risen in volume as he spoke. He felt some warmth rise to his cheeks, as ardency made way for embarrassment at his being overly impassioned at such a little thing, letting an innocuous comment to agitate him so. Tharkay’s expression was not its usual mask of inscrutable calm; instead, his eyes were slightly widened with surprise at Laurence’s unintended outburst.

“I—I did not not mean to raise my voice at you. I simply—” Laurence stumbled, his impulse for an apology warring with his conviction not to attenuate the sentiment of his words even an iota. “I mean every word I said—”

Tharkay interrupted his sad attempts at apology with quiet, yet unrestricted laughter. Shoulders shaking, eyes closed, he brought a hand up to his face, a wide smile half-hidden behind his fingers.

"Well, I'm glad to have been a source of amusement," said Laurence, feeling slightly sheepish.

“I deeply appreciate your indignance on my behalf, and your protecting my character from myself. If it helps, I promise I will no longer try to convince you that I might be a disreputable fellow,” Tharkay said, still smiling.

Laurence sighed. “Well, it’s not as if you haven’t been trying for years.”

“Old habits,” he answered simply.

Then, Tharkay turned away, his expression suddenly contemplative. As Laurence was about to inquire if anything else was the matter, Tharkay looked up and met his gaze. He stepped forward from where he was standing next to the cot, towards where Laurence stood at the foot of the bed. Tharkay approached, with his usual light grace, but more deliberate somehow, almost calculating.

It was not until Tharkay was less than an arm’s length away did Laurence think to question his proximity, yet he felt no compulsion to step back. There was a solemn intensity in Tharkay’s eyes, an unspoken entreaty, that kept Laurence in place.

“Then again,” said Tharkay, breaking their mutual silence, “maybe I should make one last go of it, for old times’ sake.”

Laurence blinked, to find his heart suddenly fit to burst, his blood overloud in his ears. He was newly aware of every detail, every motion—the set of his jaw, the tension of his shoulders, each small intake of breath that Tharkay took. Despite it, he managed to answer, in an even voice. “To warn me of such an attempt already defeats the purpose, does it not?”

“I would not be so low as to try to catch you unawares,” Tharkay replied, further closing in on the barely a foot of space between them. His eyes, unrelenting, darted down almost imperceptibly to Laurence’s mouth, before meeting his gaze once more. “So, do you still think me a good man, Will?”

There was an unmistakable sense of a precipice, some turning point that Laurence just now realised as such. He could take a step back, away from the edge, or step forward to where the ground gave way before him.

Laurence looked down, and carefully held Tharkay’s hands in his; time had healed the worst of his injuries, but his hands had borne the brunt of his captivity. Laurence ran the soft pad of his thumb over the bandages that still wrapped around his hands, his fingers, over the torn skin of his knuckles.

“I feel obligated to caution you of the futility of your endeavour, but I cannot find it in me to dissuade you from trying,” said Laurence, before Tharkay closed the distance between their mouths, swallowing the rest of his words.

 


End file.
